J is for Jaguar
by Jelsemium
Summary: Another entry in the 2006 Summer Alphabet Fiction challenge. Megan moves in to her new condo, Larry wants another classic car, Don plots and Charlie counterplots. The last of the Handyman trilogy after "H is for Handymen" and "V is for Valet Parking."
1. Chapter 1

J is for Jaguar

Author: Jelsemium

Dedication: To Jaguar, the Southern Kitty

Rating: T for Potty Mouths

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, not even Frank

Warnings: Um, well, I am trying for humor here, so you might want to put down that drink.

Chapter One:

The last time Megan had moved across town, she'd been helped by four of her co-workers. She clearly remembered the reaction of one of the men who had helped carry boxes.

_"Man, Reeves, what do you have in here, bricks?"_

_"They're called books, Fogle," Megan replied._

_"Who the hell needs this many books?" _

_"Some people like to read."_

Fogle had just shaken his head in disbelief.

Megan pushed that picture out of her head and concentrated on the present. This time, she was assisted by one co-worker, the co-worker's brother and the brother's co-worker. The difference in the mind sets between the two groups was staggering.

"Uff," Charlie grunted. "What's in here? Feels like books."

"Indeed?" Larry said. The carton wasn't sealed; the flaps were merely tucked into each other to keep them shut. Larry pried at the carton Charlie was carrying and peeked inside. "Looks like books," he said.

"Fleinhardt, move it before I drop these on your foot," Charlie grunted.

"Under what categories do your publications fall, Agent Reeves?" Larry asked. "Fiction? Non-fiction?"

"That about covers everybody's book collection," Charlie sighed as he maneuvered around his friend.

Larry pried open the top of another carton and peeked. "Ah, Dumas, Baroness Orczy, Isaac Asimov, Dame Agatha Christie, Dorothy L Sayers…"

"C'mon, Fleinhardt, less potential energy, more kinetic energy!" Charlie barked.

"Charles, you'll never make a living at stand up comedy," Larry muttered. He hefted up the carton and followed Charlie up the stairs.

"I could have told you that about thirty years ago," Don groused. The dark haired FBI agent was making a production out of being dragged here against his will, but Megan suspected that his complaints were merely a matter of form.

To Megan, Don added, "So, these aren't all work related?"

"Nope, I read for fun," Megan said. She braced herself for some mockery. It came, but it wasn't directed at her… not entirely, anyway.

"Really? You got some comic books in there?" Don asked with a slight smile. "Or maybe the latest issue of Fibonacci Quarterly? Charlie was droolin' over that one, I'm telling ya."

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Thanks for reminding me," he said. "I have to get my copy back from Amita. She wanted to read Branson's _A Combinatorial Interpretation of Identities Involving Stirling Numbers and Their Generalizations_."

"It was quite fascinating," Larry added serenely.

"Not my cuppa," Megan said. "I have some classical fiction books, like the ones Larry found. Plus I have the usual array of reference books… dictionary, thesaurus, _Home Maintenance for Dummies_, _Faulk's Basic Forensic Psychiatry_…" She shot Charlie a sly look. "_Statistics without Maths for Psychology_…"

Charlie clutched his chest and staggered backwards. "_Et tu_, Reeves?" he said.

Don forgot to pretend to sulk long enough to grin.

Larry cocked his head at her. "That last must be a British book, as it mentions 'maths' instead of 'math.'"

Megan nodded. "Yes, that was one of my purchases from Amazon dot UK," she said.

"My books have actually done quite well in the United Kingdom," Larry said absently.

"Doesn't surprise me," Megan said fondly.

Don gave her a sardonic look. "Reeves, you're inconveniencing your boss. I think you're buttering up the wrong man." He shook his head sadly. "Didn't any of your behaviorist studies include staying on your boss's good side?"

"That presupposes that you actually _have_ a good side," Charlie pointed out.

Don aimed a kick at him that Charlie, through long practice, avoided.

"I really do appreciate you men lending me your muscle," Megan said.

"Ah, here comes the butter," Don said to the other two.

Megan made a face at him. "If I was going to butter you up, I'd have said 'handsome men,' she said.

"Does this mean you don't need another favor from us?" Don asked. He tilted his head to one side and laughter filled his eyes.

"Well, now that you mention it," Megan said. "I _do_ need another favor from you boys."

Don and Charlie exchanged looks and Don shook his head sadly. "We went from men to boys in two minutes," he said.

"Gone from handsome men, yet," Charlie said. "That can't be a good sign."

"Her buttering skills need practice," Don said.

"C'mon, guys, I really do need you to help me carry…"

Charlie's eyebrows went up. "Someone who reads British psychology books should know that 'guy' is an insult in England. It's generally perceived as a reference to the infamous Guy Fawkes."

Don nodded. "I read about him, he's the one who tried to blow up Parliament." He shook his head. "So now we're what? British terrorists?"

"This is the United States of America," Larry pointed out. "The word 'guy' is not used as an insult. In fact, it's becoming a gender neutral word."

Charlie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So, we've gone from handsome men to boys to persons of no gender," he shook his head. "What is she going to call us next?" he asked Don.

"_I_ am going to call your father," Larry said sternly.

Don and Charlie held their hands up in surrender.

"Okay, okay!" Don said. "No need to fight dirty!"

Still holding his hands up as if he were a prisoner, Charlie leaned toward Don. "Larry always fights dirty," he said in a stage whisper. "He's a physicist."

Larry did, in fact, give Charlie a dirty look at this point.

"I'm going to need some help carrying up cinderblocks," Megan managed to insert edgewise.

Don frowned and turned to study the staircase.

Larry and Charlie frowned sternly at Megan.

Megan held up her hands. "Wait, don't look at me like that! I need bookshelves!"

Don whirled around. "What? What's wrong?" he asked.

"Your brother and Professor Fleinhardt are givin' me the ol' _'So the dog ate your homework'_ look again," Megan complained.

Don laughed. "You being a bad girl, Megan?" he teased.

"I just want some plank and cinderblock bookshelves!" Megan protested. "Haven't you ever heard of them?"

"We've _all_ gone the planks and cinderblocks bookshelves route," Larry said with a sigh.

"I haven't," Charlie said a trifle smugly.

Larry rolled his eyes. "Well, leaving out the precocious one among us."

"Is that Larry-speak for 'brat'?" Don asked Charlie lightheartedly.

"In this case, yes," Charlie said. "Larry knows more synonyms for 'brat' than Roget's Thesaurus."

Larry ignored them. "Most people who have attended college have done the plank and cinderblock bookshelves."

"But they're _ugly_, Megan," Charlie said. "Larry and I can build you better."

"Now who's volunteering our services?" Larry said archly.

Charlie smiled. "One of the two men that she rescued from a knife wielding junkie," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

J is for Jaguar

Author: Jelsemium

Dedication: To Jaguar, the Southern Kitty

Rating: T for Potty Mouths

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, not even Frank

Warnings: Um, well, I am trying for humor here, so you might want to put down that drink.

Chapter 2 of 4

Larry eyed Charlie suspiciously, but Charlie just smiled.

"You're serious about building shelves for me?" Megan said before any kind of squabble could start.

"Of course," Charlie said. "You saw the shelves I put in my house when you dropped by last week. And Larry did the majority of the refurbishing of his Victorian by himself."

Megan nodded. "I believe you _can_ do it," she said. "I just didn't know if you were serious about doing it. I don't want to impose."

They both smiled at her. "No trouble, dear lady," Larry asserted, blandly ignoring the complaint he had just hurled at Charlie.

"Glad to help," Charlie said.

"Don't look at me, Megan," Don said in an attempt to regain his grumpy demeanor. "I'm only here because I don't want to have to hire a new profiler. I hate interviewing job applicants."

Megan nodded. "Right, gotcha."

They took turns carrying Megan's belongings up stairs. That way they didn't have to keep locking and unlocking doors. It also ensured that there were no collisions. They piled the cartons up in the spare bedroom, so there would be room to put furniture in the living room.

When they finished, Charlie and Larry poked their heads in the master bedroom. There was a queen sized bed with a bookcase headboard, a comfortable looking chair next to a reading lamp and an end table with a television on it.

"This came out nicely," Larry said admiring the Wedgwood blue and Navajo white paint job.

"Nice furniture," Charlie added. "I could build you an entertainment center in the corner."

Megan beamed. "That would be great, Charlie."

"What else do you need…?" Larry murmured studying the room. "Anything besides the bookcases? And how many bookcases do you want?"

They went through the condo making notes of where they could build in more storage space.

"Guys," Don said. "You're getting way too ambitious here. You're not going to finish this all today."

Megan shrugged. "That'll spread the cost out over several months, then."

"Right, well, you mind if I check the news while you measure? I'd only be in the way, anyhow."

Charlie opened his mouth, but whatever he intended to say went unsaid as Don glared at him. So he just grinned at his older brother instead.

"Sure," Megan said, waving at the master bedroom. "Help yourself."

Don vanished.

"Nice of you two to come back here after your last bad experience," Megan said to Larry and Charlie.

"Well, it couldn't happen twice, could it?" Charlie said.

"Yes, actually, it could," Megan said.

At the same time, Don yelled from the master bedroom. "Hellyah!"

"We'll be more careful from now on," Charlie promised.

"You'd better be!" Don yelled.

"You're not nervous about your belongings?" Larry asked.

Megan shrugged. "I don't own that much," she said. "And who's going to break in to steal my collection of classic Nancy Drew books, anyway?"

She almost bit her tongue when she said that. But instead of raking her over the coals, the boys looked impressed.

Don appeared in the doorway. "You have Nancy Drew? Mom loved that series." He looked at Charlie. "Do we still have those?"

"How often do we actually throw things away?" Charlie asked dryly. "They're boxed up in the garage behind my Princeton textbooks, Dad's Dodger media guides and the other classic books… Hardy Boys, Three Investigators, Rick Brant..."

"Ah, yes," Larry sighed. "The books of my youth… Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, Trixie Belden, Tom Swift." He ran his hands through his hair. "The Tom Swift series was interesting. They had the original series back in the twenties and thirties, then they did a continuation of them in the sixties… Tom Swift, Jr…. which contained many references to the original series. Much better than the more recent attempts to update them."

"So, I see what inspired your career choices," Don said cheerfully.

Megan laughed. "You might have a point. Who knows, I might have been a famous mathematician if Nancy had been interested in math!"

"I doubt that I would have ever become a detective," Larry said. "I don't think I have the temperament for it."

"Yeah, but you've got the brains," Don said.

Larry flashed him a pleased smile.

"By the way, guys, have you heard of the Abel Prize?" Don asked. He looked back into the bedroom.

"Of course," Larry said. "Norway's response to the lack of a Nobel prize for Mathematics."

"Named after the famous Norwegian mathematician…" Charlie said.

"Sir Prize?" Megan guessed.

Charlie rolled his eyes at her.

"Yeah," Don interrupted. "There's a bit coming up on the news. Some guy back east just won it… a Marshall Pen something."

There was a brief, shocked silence after Don made his announcement.

"Marshall Penfield?" Charlie blurted, breaking the brief silence. He almost bowled Don over in his haste to get to the television. "What could that jerk have done to earn the Abel?"

Don shrugged. "Dunno, Buddy. Math, maybe?"

Charlie shot him a disgusted look.

There was a commercial on, which was followed by another commercial. Then the news came back and the anchors spoke about several crimes and natural disasters. Then they promised a segment on the Abel prize before cutting away to yet another commercial.

Charlie had to sit… well, pace while wringing his hands and muttering to himself… through several more cycles of news, gossip and commercials. He was all but frothing at the mouth before the news correspondent in Oslo came on and interviewed…

Lennart Carleson, a professor emeritus from UCLA.

Charlie sat down abruptly on the floor and stared at the television.

"Ah, Professor Carleson was an excellent choice," Larry said. He rubbed his cheeks and nodded. "He's made many contributions over a very long career."

Charlie looked up at him. "You… the two of you!" he blurted. He pointed at Don and Larry.

Don and Larry burst out laughing.

"You… you're…" Charlie was getting red in the face and apparently lost the ability to speak coherently.

"You knew that segment was going to be on today?" Megan asked.

Don and Larry nodded.

"Lennart called me last night to tell me about it," Larry said.

"And the Marshall Penfield guy…?"

"Is someone the British would call a 'guy', " Charlie said sulkily. "I'm going to check on lumber prices at Home Depot. I think they'll cut it to specifications for free."

He stalked out of the room.

Larry and Don exchanged amused looks.

Megan followed Charlie. She'd wanted to talk to him about something that had been bothering her for a week. "So, about last week, Charlie…" she said. "You and Larry aren't going to argue about me again, are you?"

Charlie blushed. "Um, Megan, we weren't…"

Megan raised an eyebrow.

"Well, not in the typical… Um. We won't, I'm not, well, it's not that you aren't … Y'know… Oh, crap," red-faced, Charlie sputtered to a halt.

Megan let him off the hook with a friendly chuckle and a pat on the arm. "Charlie, I know I'm no raving beauty…"

Now it was Charlie's turn to raise his eyebrow. "You need new mirrors, I see."

Megan laughed. "Thanks, anyway, I'm just concerned because I don't want to come between you and Larry."

Charlie smiled wryly. "Megan, our friendship has lasted over half of my life, nearly one third of Larry's life. Not to mention that it's survived my adolescence, Larry's middle age crisis, Larry's eccentricity, my ego, professional disputes and …" he glared back at the bedroom door. "Practical jokes." Charlie sighed. "I doubt that we're through with each other just yet."

Megan smiled sunnily. "Glad to hear it, kid," she said. "Speaking of practical jokes, are you going to let him get away with that Penfield thing? Or parking your car on the roof of the engineering building?"

Charlie smiled sweetly. "No."


	3. Chapter 3

J is for Jaguar

Author: Jelsemium

Dedication: To Jaguar, the Southern Kitty

Rating: T for Potty Mouths

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, not even Frank

Warnings: Um, well, I am trying for humor here, so you may want to put the drink down. Or cover your keyboard.

Chapter 3 of 4

It was several weeks later before Don and Megan had a free Saturday. At least Megan was free. Somehow, Don had been roped into helping load books into her new bookcases.

"After we finish here, we can cruise over to Buckland and pick up my new acquisition!" Larry said enthusiastically as he sorted through Megan's Nancy Drew books.

Don shot him a quizzical look. "And that would be?"

"A black, 1954 Jaguar coupe," Larry said happily.

"Charlie found a man who was willing to sell one of his collection," Amita said from the kitchen. She and Megan were stenciling a border of ivy leaves around the room.

Charlie smiled over his shoulder. He was sitting on the floor of the main living space, shelving Megan's psychology text books.

Megan walked around the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room and studied Charlie carefully.

"Oh," Don said with interest. "You got a new car?"

"Don, it was made in 1954," Charlie said patiently. "It's not new. Hell, it's even older than you are!"

Don aimed a swat at him and Charlie ducked away.

"Better to be old than a sissy," sniffed Don. "And soon, you'll be both!"

"Now, boys!" Megan warned.

"It's a real beauty," Larry said. "A pity about the color, but that's only cosmetics."

"You didn't want black?" Megan asked.

"Well, black does have a certain _je ne sais quoi_," Larry admitted. "However, I would have preferred the silver."

"Can't you paint it?" Don asked.

"Well, painting an antique car is tricky," Larry said. He patted his pockets. "If one wishes to enter the vehicle in competition, one must use paints in the original palette that was available at the time."

Amita nodded. "So, no hot pink Model T's?"

Larry shuddered. "The very thought of pink… I can't find the email from Frank," he muttered. "I must have left it in Amita's car."

"The keys are in my purse," Amita said.

Larry eyed the denim hobo bag warily.

Amita laughed and came out of the kitchen. She pulled her keys out of her purse and handed them over to Larry.

Larry headed downstairs, Don following curiously.

Megan put her hands on her hips. "Charlie, is this part of your wicked plan to get revenge on Larry for parking your car on top of the Mechanical Engineering building and for making you believe Marshall Penfield won the Abel?"

Charlie flashed her a wicked grin "Oh, yeah."

Amita giggled from the kitchen.

Megan squatted, crossed her wrists on her knees and growled. "I'd be really _disappointed_ if you were raising his hopes for nothin'."

Charlie blinked at her. "What?"

Amita came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a paper towel. She watched Charlie and Megan with worried eyes.

"Larry _really_ wants that car," Megan said. "If there is no car…"

Charlie held his hands out defensively. Then crossed his hands to make a 'T' shape. "Whoa! Time out! Megan, I assure you that the car exists. Frank Buck is a friend of mine. He collects jaguars, including this beauty from 1954."

Charlie shifted around so he was facing Megan. "Frank has been having trouble with the IRS lately and needs to sell one of his collection to pay his fine."

He gestured toward himself. "I helped him to streamline his accounting practices to make sure that he never gets into that kind of a bind again. In gratitude, he agreed to sell the car to Larry rather than put it up for auction where he might have gotten a better price."

Charlie ran a hand through his curls. "Basically, the difference between what Larry is paying and what he might have gotten from the auction is my consulting fee."

Megan relaxed. "So, this is the real deal?" she said. She stood up.

Charlie nodded and crossed his heart. "I guarantee, there is a beautiful, 1954 Jaguar coupe waiting for Professor Fleinhardt at Buckland."

"But you have something wicked up your sleeve?"

"Yes," Charlie said.

Megan indicated Amita with a tilt of her head. "How come you aren't seeking revenge on her?"

Amita smirked. "I'm an excellent kiss up," she said.

Charlie turned pink.

Megan grinned. "How can I help?"

Charlie leaned closer and whispered. "Don't let Don shoot my friend."


	4. Chapter 4

J is for Jaguar

Author: Jelsemium

Dedication: To Jaguar, the Southern Kitty

Rating: T for Potty Mouths

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, not even Frank

Warnings: Um, well, I am trying for humor here, so you might want to put down that drink.

Chapter 4 of 4

They drove over to Buckland in two vehicles. Larry and Megan rode with Don. Charlie went with Amita.

Buckland was an anomaly in the twenty-first century. A large plot of land nestled in the midst of urban development. There was a parking area just outside of the main gate where the two parties met.

"How can your friend afford this?" Don asked.

"His family has owned land here since the 1920's," Charlie said. "He donated a chunk of land to the city for a park, and to make sure developers didn't plant houses right next to Buckland."

"I see," Don said.

Charlie added. "He's also made a lot of good business deals, so he can keep up with his property taxes."

"This is a bit excessive," Larry said. "I mean, I understand the desire for privacy. I'm just not certain why your friend needs quite so much space. Does he have a lot of cars, then?"

Charlie pulled a computer print out from his jacket pocket. "The cars are in what used to be an airplane hanger," he said.

"So, he's got a lot of land around the hanger as well?" Amita asked. "What does he use it for?"

Charlie nodded. "He's got quite a collection," he said absently. "I'll have to show you his topiaries."

"Whoa, Chuck, what a smooth line!" Don razzed.

Charlie blinked at him. He blushed when he got what Don was implying.

"Come on!" Larry said impatiently. "My beauty awaits!"

"Mustn't keep the nice jaguar waiting," Megan said.

Charlie just smiled.

The quintet found the stall that was marked with a red 'J' on Charlie's map. They paused and looked at the grey car curiously.

"Are you sure that this is the right vehicle?" Larry asked. He bounced on the balls of his feet and rubbed his face.

Charlie looked at his print out. "Stall 16," he read. He looked at the car again and then down at his printout. "It's got the right license plate number, too."

"What's wrong?" Megan asked.

"Oh, nothing, really," Larry looked at his printout. "It's just that the description states that my new vehicle is a _black_ Jaguar."

The quartet examined the vehicle in question again.

"I'd call that more of a platinum," Amita said after a few minutes.

"Or plain old silver," Megan agreed.

"I thought you preferred silver," Charlie said.

Larry nodded. "True, I think the silver is a more attractive color. Not that it makes any difference, really." He shook off the color question and walked around his new acquisition, admiring the car's lines. "It's beautiful no matter what color it is." He re-read his e-mail, looked at the car with a frown and then he shook his head.

"Maybe a line got dropped from the description," Charlie suggested, consulting his print out yet again. "Maybe the _interior_ is black."

"Ah," Larry said. "It's true that there is no mention of the interior color." He inserted the key, which turned easily, and opened the door.

The interior was also grey.

The only black part was the cat that was stretched out on the grey upholstery.

It was _not_ a house cat.

Larry gaped as he found himself confronted by 72 inches, 87 pounds of melanistic _Panthera Onca_.

Chrysoberyl eyes studied him for a moment. Then the eyes slowly disappeared as the ebony cheeks pulled back and triangular ears flattened. The muzzle wrinkled and the upper lip writhed back off its gums, revealing slivers of white.

The white slivers grew into stilettos as the lower jaw dropped.

And dropped.

And dropped.

A long, scarlet tongue uncoiled, allowing Larry an unobstructed view down the long tunnel of feline esophagus.

The yawn ended decisively with a click as the big cat snapped her jaws shut. She blinked at Larry.

Larry took a deep breath and then, _very gently _shut the door.

He turned around to see Megan holding Don's gun arm.

Don was frowning at Megan.

Megan smiled at Don and released his arm.

Amita leaned against Charlie's shoulder and laughed silently.

Larry glared at Charlie. "You!" Larry said, pointing a trembling hand at the mathematician.

Charlie smirked.

Megan raised an eyebrow.

"She's hand raised and used to people," Charlie said. "Plus she's tethered to the seat."

Don's expression indicated clearly that he was torn between strangling his brother and laughing hysterically. "You little snot!" he finally managed. "I almost..." he clutched his chest as if to indicate a near heart attack.

Charlie shrugged. "What? I told you Frank collected jaguars."

* * *

End Notes 

Frank Buck was the Steve Irwin of his day. He collected animals from Asia and Africa before World War II and helped popularize the idea of putting animals in zoos rather than killing them for sport. His biography, _Bring 'em Back Alive_ was turned into a documentary film in the thirties and a television series in the eighties. (The film starred Frank as himself; the TV show starred Bruce Boxleitner.)

I would also like to acknowledge Rudyard Kipling's Bagheera as an inspiration for this chapter.


End file.
